You repel me
by rtargyle
Summary: "I gave him every opportunity to prevent this from happening," Jim whispered, squatting down and leaning dangerously close to John's face, "I even gave him my number, remember?" (rapenoncon -not your thing? don't read!) [rated T for now, will become M later)(JOHNLOCK)
1. Part I: the Hunters

The air was damp and smelled too much like chlorine. John shuffled his feet languidly across the surface of what sounded like stone or marble tiles. When he tried to move his arms he felt the searing sensation of fire wrap itself into a knot against his wrist; he was bound and even gagged. He could feel his own saliva, bubbling beneath his tongue and pooling in his mouth. Some finally spilled, dribbling over his bottom lip and oozing over the contours of his neck. Wherever he was, the room was dimly lit and very dark.

_What was I doing before? Where was I going? Wasn't I just talking to Sherlock? _

John blinked feverishly as he felt bile rising from his stomach and setting his throat ablaze. He was angry but also terrified. His body was beginning to betray him when he started remembering things. _He was going to Sarah's and Sherlock just said he'd pick up some milk & beans... _

_He walks into the sidewalks and waves down a taxi. John sits inside and then... -blank. Quiet. Nothing but darkness. _

For a few moments, John wondered if he was either struck or drugged. Maybe both, he wasn't so sure. His entire body ached, like he'd been tossed into a sack and beaten against a pile of rocks. His bones shivered and shook. He tried to focus, making the blurs expand and grow. John's blue eyes rolled, glinting green and red. He could feel his blood pumping and the room went swinging. Now he was sure; he'd been hit several times and given some type of paralytic.

"Still trying to figure it out? _Johnny Boy_?"

When John tried to answer, his lips started to bleed as he yelled through the rope and gag. He _hated_ that nickname.

"Ugh, you're already starting to bore me," Came the same voice, it sounded high pitched and sing-song like, "...I wonder why he kept you around. You know he had several flatmates before you came along, right?"

That's when the lights came flashing on and blinded John. He bowed his head instantly as the burn wrestled his vision. Shapes and blurs and then a man came bounding through, illuminating a familiar face. _Oh no_, John thought when he saw him, _it's him_.

"I gave him every opportunity to prevent this from happening," Jim whispered, squatting down and leaning dangerously close to John's face, "I even gave him my number, _remember_?"


	2. Part II: the Loyal Dog

Quickly, Jim shoved his hands into his pockets and fished out a switchblade. He twisted it gracefully through his fingers and turned it upon John. The other man quivered beneath it's kiss. Moriarty, smiled and brought the tip of the blade, scraping the delicate curve of John's neck and grabbed a fistful of his hair, wringing him painfully backwards.

"Oh, _now_ I see." Jim chuckled softly, pressing the blade hard enough against Watson's jugular that he shut his eyes and uncontrollably moaned in horror. Moriarty felt his stomach fill with butterflies at the sight of John's paralyzing fear. It was so cute.

"…_This. _This is why he keeps you around. You're nothing but a loyal dog. A daft, _dumb_ bitch. But you know," Jim released the pressure upon John's throat,

"someday he'll lead you astray." and brought the knife up, racing the contours of John's thin lips as drool still oozed from his spread lips and swollen cheeks. John's tongue was burning like embers after having been rubbed raw from trying to chew through his gag. That's when Moriarty heard the disgruntled muffles of dribbling from Watson's mouth.

"What was that?" Jim swiftly cut through John's gag and laughed at the other man gasping out for air, "I didn't quite catch that."

"I said," John huffed, furrowing his brows tightly into a deep, frown, "Fuck off."

Jim's expression did not change. He didn't flinch or so much as breathe. For long moments, John stared into those dark, pitiless eyes until he saw something catch fire behind the other man's lifeless gaze. _Rage_.

Moriarty suddenly twisted and pulled roughly at John's thick, blonde hair and laid his blade against his cheek. He pressed hard until slicing flesh. A small cut, just a nick, barely fatal but it recomposed John's reaction completely. He just went stiff beneath his restraints and Jim smirked, releasing him all together.

"See? My point exactly," Jim sung softly, wiping the blood from John's cheek "And I have to say, he trained you_ well_."

* * *

_(author notes)_

_I know it's shorter -sorry. I'm JUST SO CHANGEABLE__!_


	3. Part III: Show me your teeth

_(author's __notes)_

_WARNING:  
THERE ARE GRAPHIC AND DISTURBING IMAGES IN THIS NEXT UPDATE/CHAPTER. _

_-Enjoy!_

* * *

"Aw…you guys," Jim shook his head in annoyance as he encircled John and _tsk_,_ tsked_ under his breath, "I thought I told _you_," He swiftly and tightly grabbed John's bruised chin "no rough housing…" Moriarty patted the other man's cheek gently. John flinched. The pain surging throughout his body was overwhelming. Watson slapped a sideways glance at the bulky henchmen holding his button-down and blood-orange vest. Jim's fingers dug trenches into John's cheek as he directed his gaze back to him.

"Just curious," Moriarty laughed quietly, "this scar, of yours" Jim released John's chin and softly rubbed the swollen, pink and glistening scar flesh between John's shoulder. John sat tired, defenseless and nearly beaten senseless after wrestling Moriarty's thugs. He hadn't figured that one out quite yet but every bit of his clothing, except his pants of course had been stripped. He tried to run and fight earlier, after been temporarily freed but his attempts were useless. And painful, v_ery painful_.

"Yes-what about it!" Watson jerked away from his touch but then felt a searing and burning sensation spread through out his scalp. Boney but strong fingers wrung him backwards again where he was greeted by Jim. He was very, very _close _to his face. His breath smelled of cherry and spearmint but his eyes busily scanned John's features. Soon he grew very uncomfortable.

"Does it hurt when I," Jim glided the blade he had from early from the tip of John's naval, tracing the indention of his worn muscles and bruised collar-bone, "do this…?"

John wrung and writhed his body like a snake between Jim's delicate touch and the ropes stiff bristles, rubbing and biting into his skin. He wanted so desperately to be set free of his bonds but could not escape the blade's edge as it traveled up and up. Further, until reached his shoulder and then Moriarty pressed mercilessly and blood bubbled beneath split flesh.

Jim watched John's features and just as the other man closed his eyes he fought hard to stifle his screams. Moriarty dug the blade deeper, begging for a reaction. Nothing came, just the screwed and contorted features of John's terrified, shaking face. Not even a whimper.

"Say it," Jim whispered, grazing John's ear with his lips, "I want to hear it. _Now_."

John huffed and then held his breath, his face turning hot red. He trembled underneath Jim's touch. Finally, John felt the air between his throat collapse and dry up. Moriarity clinched the man's throat, harshly. John's eyes went flapping open.

"Say it," Jim whispered menacingly, still very close to Watson' s face, "It hurts, doesn't it?"

John shook his head uncontrollably, tucking back the scalding hot pain rippling through his shoulder and backside. A look of pure hatred crossed Jim's features and then there came an unforgivable pain. The kind that left John gasping for air but was denied it. Jim choked him as he twisted the end of the blade around and around, shredding the scar tissue that had long grown over.

"_Say it_."

"Stop-st-stop!"John croaked his as he shook his head in a scramble. Jim was surprisingly more powerful than he appeared. John cursed at the bondages that kept him tightly tied to the chair.

"Say it!" Jim's voice shouted dangerously and pressed harder drawing more blood; it flowed in thick streams of that cascaded over John's shoulder and he winced, sucking in all the air he could.

"It-I-It h-hu-hurtss-ss. It hurts! Stop! Please."

Suddenly, air came bursting into his lungs and Jim had altogether let go of his hair and retracted his blade. He wiped it on a handkerchief he'd stuck into his pocket. He watched as John's head fell bowing forward and his body quaked. He stared at the tile beneath his shoes and it danced in colors of gray, red and blue. He couldn't tell the ground from his feet anymore. They kept blending and moving. He felt he might faint as a light, feathery breeze winded his stomach. He panted and huffed silently.

Blood, vibrant stains and dabs, dribbled over the Doctor's well refined muscles. Jim smiled to himself for a moment, reminded by the fact that Sherlock's companion had served time in the military. _So_, he smirked, tucking the blade back into his coat pocket, _he's acclimatized to fear and_ _torture…this could be fun_. _Really fun_.

Jim strolled over and gently grabbed ahold of John's bloodied and sweaty matted blonde hair. He brought his face up and to meet his own. Jim studied the man's boiling blue eyes, wavering between heavy lids they were hotter than fire and burning like ice, scaly and bitter. They gleamed ravenously up at Jim through, tired and beaten bruises. They were already beginning to turn blue.

Moriarity once against found himself draw to John's mouth. It hung half open, breathing ragged and glowing red in the shape of Jim's hand. He'd nearly made the other man faint,_ how perfect._ Drool bubbled over his pinkened lips.

"So, how many fingers?" Moriarity asked, tracing the outline of John's gasping and parted lips.

"Wha…What?" John's tired eyes, unfocused stared up at Jim where he loomed above and felt his stomach tip over him in fright at the expression running over Moriarty's features. They seemed to be inquisitive but too entirely mischievous for John's peace of mind. He tried to move but found his body still heavy and unresponsive. His bones quivered and ached. He could still taste blood in his mouth from trying to fend and fight off Jim's thugs.

"I asked," Jim slipped a finger into John's mouth and he tried to jerk away, "_How many fingers_? " Moriarty leaned in dangerously close once more, pouring his breath against John's trembling skin. Jim pushed two more fingers and found that John still tried to fight. He nicked and almost bit his fingers but he roughly shook John's chin.

"If you try to bite me," Jim threatened "I'll leave Sherlock a body instead and your death will be his next mystery" Jim threatened, fire glowing venomously behind his black, coal eyes "Now…" Moriarity smirked as he pushed the fourth finger into John's small, slobbery mouth, "How many fingers, do you think _I can fit_?"


	4. Part IIII: Gag Factor

_I am r**eally really** **sorry** for the lateness and shortness of this chapter/update -I've not been feeling the best this week. _

_Hope it's to your liking! _

* * *

John's lips stretched and swelled as bubbles of spit cascaded over the entirety of his chin. He was panting and breathing harshly through flared nostrils. He had no other means of breathing once Jim had slid a fourth finger into his mouth.

Unfortunately, he tried the fake a cough or two but found them being shoved back down his throat. Jim pushed his palm further and further, excluding his thumb, by which it balanced itself steadily against John's sticky chin.

Jim smirked, racing his calloused and gooey fingers back and fourth and back and fourth, hardly giving John any time to recompose himself. He grunted, taking all of Moritarty's strides but even at his best, Watson still stuttered and gurgled for a _release_, a _pause_…perhaps?

He kept his pumps thick and fresh, harshly delivered but even Jim found himself immersed in not just the motion of how he was humiliating John but Moriarty started to feel a sort of blockage dislodge and burst. His interest was peaked and it had been standing, crawling and living just beneath his nose: it was _normalcy_. John stunk and smelled of the stuff -_reeked of it_, even!

"So tell me…" His voice tiptoed, as he stared and studied Watson's haggard and half-open tired mouth, as Jim still splayed with John's warm, saliva. He curled his fingers gingerly into his cheeks, stretching them until John would have to close his eyes and gag. He saw it coming; his fist nearly swallowed whole. Painfully, whole.

Jim craved the routine things that everyday people do to get up and start off the days right. Without routine or ritual, wouldn't human life be meaningless? Meaningless indeed, for those gifted with too much widom beyond their years of counting… _Who else wouldn't they have to play with then_?

"...John, do have a gag reflex?" Jim seethed with excitement, shaking John's face "Do you? Johnny boy?"

John tried nodding his head to lie his way out of this one but Jim knew he was fibbing. He sunk his palm further down his throat and with his other hand he pinched John's nose.

"Ah-ah! No, _no_," Jim's black pitiless eyes melted crimson and his smile widened, when John fought and struggled against his upper-hand "Let's see how long you can hold your breath..._huh_?"

John tried to cough or breathe but Jim pressed his strength boldly and stifled it into a groan. It sounded wounded, guttural and furious. Then something happened that neither of the two men thought conceivable. And John had picked a fight he didn't see himself living long enough to see it through.

Suddenly, blood filled the back of his mouth and he threw up without fingers being jammed down his windpipe. He spat up phlegm and gagged for few moments before there came a smack, and scorching blow to his nose. John felt himself and the chair tumbling backwards, hard like rocks against the titles and his hands felt crushed underneath the surging, boiling weight.

Everything was getting blurry again, and John fought hard to stay awake this time but all he saw was Jim Moriarity's angry and fiery face, illuminating the darkness that was beginning to completely surround him.

All too quickly, his senses and his emotions overwhelmed him until John blacked out, again.

"He actually did it…" Jim started to laugh, staring at his fleshy and bloodied fingers, "_He actually bit me_,"—

Just then, Moriarty's cell phone bleeped and flashed a forwarded text message.

Found. The Bruce-Partington **plans**. Please **collect**. The **Pool**. **Midnight**.


	5. Part V: the Spider and the Fly

**_I am so grateful to all of you who have followed, favorites or reviewed this story -THANK YOU SO MUCH. _**

_Without you, I wouldn't have any reason to write something like this. Anyway, I am SO TERRIBLY SORRY for the long wait but it's finally done. There might be a few grammatical and spelling errors but just the minimal stuff. _

_I really hope you enjoy this as much as I had writing it! _

* * *

Moriarty looked at his hands as the blood oozed from the hanging flesh between his middle and index finger. The red tainted the cold water pouring from the faucet but he couldn't stop staring at himself in the mirror. He picked apart his reflection, melting down his mask and pinching the loose, bloody flesh between his other fingers.

He closed his eyes tightly and ripped off the thick flabs of gooey and bloody flesh. It fell and collected in the old, rusted and gray porcelain bowl. The pain was immense but he relished its' burn, deep within his chest, he heaved with joy and desperation all at once. Jim then splashed the cool water against his face, staring now into the bowl. Spirals of blood curling together like tiny threads within the running water and Jim waited, thinking and scheming.

It was a thrill to him to figure out just how to kill a man but unfortunately, he wasn't allowed to _kill_ John but he could always _hurt_ John –just for the sake of shredding Sherlock's nerves. Moriarty, he had to admit to himself, as he turned back to face the mirror, he was enjoying this bloke –_this ordinary bloke_!

* * *

John could feel the feathers of his slumber slowly unfurling. He found he was laying face down in the middle of group shower. It was dimly lit and he felt very heavy all of sudden, just as he tried to stand.

His legs, knees and feet were rendered immobile and were tightly bound to the legs of the upside, turned stool that was anchored to the tiles. His hands were free but why? _What was the point of this_? _Struggle_? _Humiliation_, what? That's when he noticed he was deck out, in a fastened vest, with loads of explosives. He rolled his eye, allowing for that ugly frustration of his fill up the pit of his stomach.

"We're not finished yet," he was startled to find Jim Moriarty creeping from the shadows and he held small porcelain, flowery glass that smelled awful and strong, "…you and I, John. "

He offered him the shot but John didn't trust him and ignored the offer of the drink. He could still smell it, whatever it was, even when he struggled only to lean awkwardly up. John watched Moriarty's movement as he encircled the doctor.

"You might wanna take this," Jim urged, giving it to John again, who took it wearily and began studying the glass carefully, "There's nothing I've put in it, I promise but trust me when I say, _you're going to need it_…"

John gulped down the small drink as Jim quickly searched the inside of his blazer and dipped his fingers into the pocket lining the inside. He revealed a small syringe type of apparatus, the kind they used to use on children when they got their fingers pricked but there was something very different, awfully sinister about the way he held that vial. He traced the plastic coated needle and noticed John as finished his shot.

He concealed his weapon and smiled deeply as he turned to collect his glass. He disappeared by behind the darkness and gave the glass to the thug. He nodded at the rest of them, lining the darkest corners of the bathhouse group shower and then four small red dots lined every inch of Johns' skin and vest.

The other man sighed angrily, looking over at himself as he finally learned to sit up straight, balancing his weight against his knees. He saw Jim come out from the darkness again but this time he was smiling. He approached John, very closely and towering above him.

Fear started to shine through Watson's oceanic eyes he paced glances and looked away from Jim. He wasn't sure what would happen next –_where the bloody hell was Sherlock_? He cried out in a choked whisper.

"Four fingers, right? Or was it my fist? I can't quite remember," Jim mocked, "…I mean you didn't play fair and bit me. My memory is fuzzy but since you didn't play by the rules it looks like I'll have to teach you a lesson," Moriarty squatted at eye level with John, "you won't forget."

Suddenly, John felt seering pain exploding from his left shoulder. It burned hotter than fire and spread itself throughout his body. He trembled from the pain but then everything started to blur together. He felt like he couldn't move, he just felt paralyzed and very tired

"A gift from Irene," Jim laughed, "She's used it loads of times on me. You'll love it, don't you worry…"

John couldn't keep his balance and fell, with all his weight, against Jim's legs. Jim smirked and put the syringe, capping his needle in plastic and then looking back down at John. He reminded Moriarty of a limp noodle, it seemed as those the drug was working.

Swiftly, Jim pulled John by his hair and wrung his backwards again, shaking his head but Watson's body wasn't responding at all. He felt terrified of what could happen next.

"Open your mouth." Jim commanded, unzipping the fly, below his unhooked belt. John's words were fairly slippery and slurred but he did manage to say something in return.

"N-No," John said winded, too tired to move, "_please_-no. No, not _this_."


	6. Part VI: The art of deducing love

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: ****PLEASE**_**PLEASE **_**PLEASE READ,**

I am **SO VERY SORRY** FOR HOW LONG THIS HAS TAKEN TO UPDATE….school is ending soon so exams and a lot of papers have been ridding me of my motivation as of late.

HOWEVER, I do believe you'll enjoy this update, it's a little different from how the current story as been going, **but I promise you this being told through flash backs and both Sherlock and John's memory of what happened that night at the pool**

**{Ooop! Quick, little side note - THIS IS PART ONE, AND THERE ARE THREE PARTS TO THIS LAST CHAPTER.} **

_Please, enjoy!_

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: "_The art of deducing love" _

[PART ONE] –

" **There's a story behind every person. There's a reason why they're the way they are and they aren't just like that because they want to… Something in the past created them and sometimes, it's impossible to fix them. "**

* * *

Mrs. Hudson, dressed in her purple dress and always perfect hair, came bustling into the kitchen and went straight for the sink. She set a thick, large porcelain bowl into the sink and began to run the cold water until it filled at least half-full.

As she collected John's percocet and other medications, she lingered and listened to whimsical, yet, so very sad song Sherlock had played in the parlor.

He's been like this for almost six days now, she thought as she stood watching him. She hasn't heard him say anymore but two or three words. Mostly, he talks to himself and she finds him sometimes talking to John, as if he was in the same room with him. Poor thing has been bed-ridden for the last few days, from exhaustion and pain.

Suddenly, she felt fury and anger sweep through her. He hasn't even been back there, won't visit John even in his own bedroom. It made her so angry thinking about it that she had to leave the room –quickly, she collected her things and went to turn back down the hallway, towards their bedroom.

Sherlock carried his bow, heavy across the string nearly given out in strength to finish composing this final piece. He's been working on something, sort of like a ballad and it's all for him –then, there came two small knocks on the open door of his flat.

"Afternoon, dear Brother," Sherlock answer quietly, turning to meet Mycroft. He was dressed in his usual dressy attire but wore a frown, just as his little brother had worn for nearly a week now since his encounter with Moriarty. "You've gotten," Mycroft looked at Sherlock's ghastly figure, "…thinner, uh-since last we'd saw each other. How have things…been?"

* * *

"John? John," Mrs. Hudson whispered, "You need to take your medications."

John rolled over from his side and opened his eyes. Dewy and yet, empty. It was as if the color had been drained from them. She watched his lids flicker and flap.

"John…I'm so very sorry but you have to finish taking these. Also, I brought you the other half of the percocet. Oh," she cooed, pressed the back of her hand gently against his flush forehead.

"…Here," she offered, helping him sit up.

"Let me help you, alright…there you go," She said popping a few pills in his mouth and gave him the glass of water. He nearly drank all of it and finally, she handed him the percocet and he tossed it in his mouth and quickly finished the water, handing back an empty glass.

"Thanks," John croaked, falling back against the pile of pillows and sinking beneath the sheets. His eyes started to flutter again but he looked up at her and tried to smile but instead found himself fall numb to slumber. "…for everything, Mrs. Hudson."

"Hush, hush," She said softly, wringing out the thick dishcloth and brought it up against his forehead, patting him gently, "Just close you're eyes and rest, dear."

When Mrs. Hudson had returned into the kitchen, she heard no music being played but smelled the thick vapors of cigarette smoke. She set the plates back in the sink and cleared the table until she heard a noise from behind. She turned and saw Sherlock, grabbing an ashtray and walking over, casually opening the window, and then crawling atop his wooden breakfast table, spreading his limbs out and taking large puffs…

"You can't keep doing this you know?" She said, feeling her frustration peaking. After just seeing how frail and tired and broken John become since the accident. Tears filled her eyes, because she wondered if Sherlock actually cared!

There came no reply, just a pale stream of smoke, trailing from his mouth. He didn't even move, flinch or anything. Silence. That's all he ever did, kept quiet. Always stuck too far in his own mind.

It irritated her but most of all it confused her! She's seen them together and it appeared Sherlock always cared –even when he had to pull John's teeth and extract the bullet from his left arm. He looked scared. But now…it's as if his affection has completely evaporated.

How could she stand here and let him wallow like this? She went stomping into the living room and stood staring him down. He finally turned his head and saw her there. Fuming with tears. For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other and finally, Sherlock was about to speak when she interrupted with gasping shouting.

"And you're smoking _again_? Sherlock, I thought you'd quit but then again I'm not actually so surprised at that as I am with your lack of empathy! Are you mad? I mean really Sherlock, you won't even touch John, much less care for him"—

Suddenly, Sherlock sat up in a rage and chucked the ashtray towards her but not _at_ her, shattering against his mantel. Mrs. Hudson, in alarmed nearly fell back against his chair and found herself terrified and breathless as he stood up, stalking towards her.

"I've written sixty-seven scores in the last 27 hours, I have only gone to bed just to lay beside John –to make sure he's okay! I haven't slept since he made me pull his bloody teeth" He shouted, growing closer to her face, "I can't even eat, I don't think anymore because I'm too concerned and worried about him! How dare you say I don't care. I care more for John than you, I'm certain!"

Sherlock turned from her now and paced around the room, wanting only another cigarette but found himself screaming once more, "I pretend he's okay and in here, in this room with me sometimes and I find myself talking to him but then again, he can't hear me," Sherlock trailed over to his mantel, throwing everything off it and sent it crashing down and for long moments he stood in silence, waiting for her to run but instead, she turned to find him with tears behind his glass eyes, rolling like gel and marble.

"…Because he's to weak to move. He hardly talks. He just sleeps, like a stone, so very quiet…so still. And sometimes, I wrap up against him to make sure he's still breathing."His voice so soft, it came out like a whisper, a confession.

"This is why I don't _have_ friends," Sherlock laughed, sniffing and swallowing back his tears, "This is why I try very hard not to get to close to people. I'm dangerous. _I'm fucking crazy_," He said, crumpling into the pile of mess he'd just made, "and now, I've attracted the most dangerous man I've known just when I've met John. Someone who understands. Someone who can tolerate my idiosyncratic ticks and habits. But I _can't_ have friends. _Not like John_. I _never even wanted friends_ because I know that in the end, they'll get hurt or threatened, all because of me and because of what I do. And I can't risk his safety anymore. Not like that. I don't operate so well with emotions because they're so unfamiliar to me and"—

"You love him, don't you, Sherlock?"

"Yes, of course I do that's what I've tried to say"—

"No, no…you _love_ him. I see it, written all in your eyes, dear."

Another burst of silence slithered between them and finally Mrs. Hudson, stood, collecting and helping to clean up the mess. Sherlock tried to stop her but she insisted.

"I-I…I never meant to throw the ashtray"—

"I know dear, I know, but Sherlock, could do me a small favor," She smiled, collecting the broom and dust-pan from the kitchen, "…could you play that last song you did, just a little bit ago?"

Sherlock nodded and collected his violin and bow. He freshened the hairs with resin and brought them up against the pliable strings. Gently, he carried it across and there came a beautiful, soft but sad note, and then another. He played for her as she continued to clean. Sherlock could feel himself, as he read the score, falling prey to a fresh, recent memory…

* * *

"_Just do it, will you!" John stammered. He was splayed out across the kitchen table with his mouth open. Inside, there were large welts and puss sore, covering his cheek walls and his tongue had been rubbed raw but was worse were his back row of teeth…_

_They had been crushed, completely. Blood seeped and gushed from them through the cracks and splits. John writhed in pain and quickly, Sherlock looked over to find Lestrade and Molly Hooper nearby. Molly flicked the tip end of the needle and quickly injected the powerful pain killer, intravenously. _

"_Jesus," Lestrade looked over and into John's mouth, "…what the hell did he do him?" _

"_A gun," Sherlock fumed, trying to masking his rage and hatred for Jim, "shoved down his throat. Back and fourth, until he crushed…" Sherlock found himself trailing off and turned only to meet John's face. Watson grabbed him roughly by his collar and pulled him closer. _

"_I want you to pull them," John heaved, shuddering in pain, and falling short against Sherlock "…please, I'm begging you." he grabbed Holmes hands and squeezed them so hard it sent shooting pain throughout his friend's hands. But Sherlock never flinched. _

"_I don't trust anyone else, Sherlock," John wheeze, falling back down against the table. Molly looked over at Sherlock and handed him the metal (dental apparatus) clamp and pliers.  
_

_His body suddenly shook with fear. He was about to inflict a horrible pain upon John. It's only been a few hours since he'd endured Moriarty's wrath. Sherlock felt afraid. He couldn't do this, he couldn't hurt him but he asked…  
_

_"Open wide, I need to clamp it first," Sherlock pulled his latex gloves on and nodded at Molly and Lestrade. They held down John's broken and sore body, harshly against the table "…Here we go." Sherlock looked into John's empty, swollen and red, teary eyes. Watson nodded, feeling the clamp collect his shattered back tooth and it sent a fire burning through his body. He shivered from the pain.  
_

_"Alright, John," Sherlock whispered, revealing the pliers and instantly his friend gasped and tensed up. He shut his eyes tightly, nodded and whimpering.  
_

_"I'm going to count to three, okay," Sherlock reassured "and then I'm going to pull it out, quick and easy okay. And then it's only the last two."  
_

_John nodded, suddenly grabbing Sherlock's other hand that lay softly against his chest. He felt the pliers' pressure just as he felt the wonderful drop of whatever it was Molly had injected into his forearm.  
_

_"1…2," John whimpered softly but relaxed himself, "3!"_

* * *

_Later, (very late/3amish) that evening  
_

* * *

_John felt the rigged ends of metal being shoved down his throat. He knew he shouldn't have tried biting Moriarty but he just couldn't take it anymore. The humiliation made him feel lower than dirt but now, he was scared, for his life as a gun was being shoved down his throat. In and out. Up and down. Gushing saliva all over but the pain was overwhelming._

_Immense. It felt like his mouth was burning red hot flames. Crackles of his back-row of teeth started to crumble and bleed through. Oh god, he thought, this pain was far worse than anything he'd ever encountered._

_"I warned you," Moriarty growled, cocking the gun back and it clicked, sending a wave of horror throughout John's nearly numb body. He was about to die, he knew –oh god! He writhed but his body didn't respond and so he waited for his untimely end. "So tell me, was it really worth it?"_

_Before John could even try to respond he felt the puncture of air hitting like needles against the back of his throat and the loud clap of thunder from the gun_—

**~O~0~0~****~0~0~0~0~****~0~0~0~0~**0~0~0~O~

"John! John!" Sherlock fought against the other man, who woke up in a rage with eyes wide open and heaving chest, "John! John you were only dreaming –a-a nightmare"—

"Oh, oh okay," John sat up, straight and saw Sherlock sitting up with him, "…were you watching me sleep again?"

"Yea…well, you know"—

"No, thank you. It's nice to actually know that you really do care."

"You know I do, John."

Sherlock watched him fall back now against the bed and sink against the sheets. His eyes still open. John watched the ceiling and Sherlock watched him. His eyes weren't as blue anymore, almost like whatever innocence that was left inside him had now been taken away. They were grey, and full of sleep, almost like the life left inside him was too broken to carry on.

Finally, Sherlock laid back down beside him and heard the lulled breathing of John as he started to drift back into sleep. After awhile, he snuggled closer and wrapped a protective arm against his chest. He leaned up and over John's turned head and whispered, "…More than you'll ever know."

Sherlock then settled himself against him again and found John's body moving against his own. They finally had moved into a comfortable spooning position and for long, several upon several minutes, Holmes listened to John's heart beating and his lungs before finally be able to close his eyes…


	7. Part VII : The Last Waltz

AUTHOR'S NOTES: 

**WARNING!**

***Vulgarity  
*Sexual s****ituations (smut)  
*Male X Male  
*GRAPHIC & Disturbing images**

This is PART TWO of CHAPTER SIX - this WHOLE CHAPTER IS A FLASHBACK through JOHN'S POINT OF VIEW (POV/perspective)

PS- ...Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Six, Part II:** _THE LAST WALTZ_

* * *

Moriarty grabbed me by my chin, roughly forcing me to look up at him. He squeezed it hard, making me shudder when I felt blood pooling beneath my tongue.

"Ah," Jim mocked, slapping me hard, "Just look at the mess you made."

I gazed downward, my vision blurring along the way but I could see the pile of vomit just at my knees and curdled with phlegm, blood and bits of my teeth.

I could still feel the cold metal of that gun, grinding against my jaw and like sandpaper; it left my throat feeling raw and ablaze. My entire torso oozed with drool and blood. More poured from my mouth and the pain was immense, bursting tears from my eyes.

Jim then turned away and I sat for a moment in peace. I could still breath and _I was alive, dammnit_! Moriarty pulled the trigger of that gun and I…_I-I can't think about that. Bloody bastard made me lose it and throw up all over myself_. At first, I was so terrified that I couldn't quite discern if I were dead or if that reality hadn't let me go yet. _Then I fucking puked_.

Just then Jim returned, with a damp cloth and squatted down at my level. I didn't flinch; I wasn't about to let him crack me again. I stared at him, right in the eyes.

"Hah!" Moriarty chuckled to himself as he wiped the contours of my stomach, "You actually thought I'd killed you off? Just like that? Well, actually, I had plans of killing you but _now_," I felt myself whimper as he gently wiped off the bits of drool and blood from my chest_, his eyes were mesmerized_, "…I trust you know it was a blank, pretty obvious, eh? But you know what the best part of it all was? _Your eyes_." Jim had gone from laughing at me to almost swooning over me. It was truly unsettling.

Just then I swallowed hard as I felt the cloth travel all the way up to my throat but his grip hesitated. I shut my eyes quickly as I felt pressure being applied. _He was strangling me_! I tried to twist my way out of it but he held me very still.

"Fear is the purest form of beauty…" Moriarty squeezed harder, making it more difficult for me to breathe, let alone move and then suddenly, I saw Jim lean inward. So I dodged it as best I could but my persistence led my nowhere when I felt his soft, moist lips melt against my own. When I tried to move again, he licked the blood falling from the corners of my mouth and in disgust, I shoved as best I could and bit his lips. Hard enough even to draw blood—!

He released me instantly, wincing in pain and cupping his mouth. I fell back gasping for air and looked straight into the ceiling. I counted the seconds that passed between us and the silence grew unnerving. Just then, I could hear him starting to laugh. He giggled, covering his mouth and licking the small wound.

"You know what? This is exactly why I like you, Dr. John Watson." Jim flipped over the cloth in his hand, a fresh side and he squatted even more closely than before, " You're rather fun, a little rough, but..." Jim gently wiped my face and every so often would look at me "I like that. So, I think I'll keep you around, John." Jim whispered, leaning into my ear and I shuddered.

Suddenly, I felt him wring my hair once more, like driving needles into my skull and he held me down again, his hand tightly squeezing my throat. I felt my face grow hot and there was little room for me to breath.

Jim kissed me hard and my fatigue was driving me mad, so I surrendered. In shame, I could feel his tongue twist in my mouth and lapping at my blood, like an animal. I twisted my face, trying not to think about my current situation when I felt the grip loosen from my hair. I wanted to move but I had no strength. Moriarty pressed harder against my throat. His lips wandered now and licking and biting at mine. That's when I felt his free hand travel down the contours of my torso, grabbing anxiously at my body and he went for belt of my pants.

"Don't fight me," He commanded, parting lips, in a low dangerous voice. He grabbed my throat tighter than before and slammed me back against the pole I was bound against, "…besides, it seems as though I'm not the only one enjoying this."

Jim had already undid the fly of my zipper and revealed my bugle. He didn't turn me on, it was the way he kissed me—the sensation. The feeling.

"Oh my," Jim smirked, dipping his hand beneath my boxer briefs and firmly grabbing my member, "No wonder Sherlock keeps you around."

I shut my eyes tightly. I wanted to shrink into nothing and escape this hell but then I felt the warming friction between my thighs as Jim worked my member. I writhed in both pain and pleasure. Shame washing over me in thick, cold waves of reality and all I wanted to do was die. For a moment, I wished Moriarty would just be kind enough to go ahead and put me out my misery.

Jim kissed me again, picking up his speed as he pumped my thickening shaft and it became wet. _Oh god, I couldn't deny it, it felt good. So good._ Jim stroked tighter, making me gasp and he covered my open mouth his again. He was gentle, his mouth moist and not sopping, his lips were thin but he worked them well. Moriarty traveled to my ear grazing and nipping. I could feel it now; the euphoric feeling that leaves you blissful, tired and full of pleasure. _I wanted to scream._

Then all at once, it stopped. Jim's lips left my own, his hand released my throat and my member. He quickly stood up, wiping the bits of blood trailing his lips before snapping his fingers. There appeared two men from the darkness, the same thugs I had dealt with earlier but they waited for Moriarty's orders.

"It's almost time," Jim smiled with glee and wide eyes, "but first, we gotta get you all cleaned up. What would Sherlock think if he saw you like this?"

"Fuck you, Jim." I spit blood and growled, "You fucking _disgust_ me."


	8. PART VIII : Just Between Us

**AUTHOR'S APOLOGIES...**

* * *

**I AM SO VERY SORRY FOR THIS LONG, AND TOTALLY UNEXPECTED HIATUS.** I'VE BEEN GOING THROUGH SOME INTENSE ART THERAPY AND WRITING THERAPY.** REALLY SERIOUS WRITERS/ARTISTS BLOCK.** IT CAN BE** VERY EXHAUSTING **AND** DEPRESSING.**

_Right now I just was to thank all you have read and enjoyed this piece. It all started off from a one shot and now look at it!_**_ YAY! _**

I ALSO WANT TO**_ THANK ALL OF MY PATIENT FOLLOWERS, & HONEST REVIEWERS _ YOU'RE TRULY A BLESSING AND WITHOUT YOU, I'D HAVE NO REASON TO WRITE. **

**SO YEA..._VERYVERYVERYVERYVERYVERYVERYsooooorrrrrrryyyy for how long it's taken me to finally finish this piece!_**

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

* * *

**Aaahh,** here we are at last, unfortunately at the final stage in YOU REPEL ME! I really do think a lot of the _Johnlock_ fans will really appreciate this chapter. It's exploring John's reflection of the incident, and of Sherlock and ironically, 'their relationship'.** So ENJOY**

**-BTY: **_Anything IN This IS _**JOHN POV**

* * *

You Repel Me**: Chapter VII - **_JUST BETWEEN US_

* * *

The sun tickled its' way through the slit blinds and danced along John's nose A warmth spread throughout his features. He blinked himself awake when he heard Sherlock, curled up against the crook of his back, muttering illogical sentences about the periodical elements and some other chemical combinations—_the usual_. For some reason, the same routine such as this, made John suddenly value and appreciate the insignificant things that take up so much room in our life.

Even living here, with Sherlock. Yes, he lived with a lunatic but at least things were never boring. And here, he was safe, warm and with a friend that really cared about him. So John laid there, half awake, laughing under his breath at the ridiculous things coming out that maniac's head.

It wasn't until John realized he'd had enough for once sitting when Sherlock started to get louder and turned over on top of him. He was dead asleep to the world and still managed to wrap his arms around John. Like a child. He was still murmuring but he finally cooed off again.

For long moments he laid there, wondering if he should move or not. He was perfectly sound with him quiet and softly snoozing in his ear but then suddenly he started talking loudly again. Then _louder, _striking John's nerves like cymbals.

"I know the _bloody-stupid_ periodic table like the back of my hand Anderson!"—

"_Ah hell, Sherlock_! Do ever shut up…_do you_?" John responded, quite loudly but Sherlock only turned over, burring a cocoon for himself. John then rolled over and pulled on his blue robe before standing up to collect his cane.

Fortunately, he was feeling less sore than usual and just before he left, he looked back at Sherlock. He could only see the tuff curls on the top of his head, peaking through the mountains of creases of bed sheets and pillows.

That's when John smirked, throwing his pillow on top of Sherlock's nest. He immediately turned to open the bedroom door, very softly and quickly, disappeared down the narrow corridor.

* * *

"John!" Mrs. Hudson quietly exclaimed, running over to meet him and helped him to the kitchen. She watched as he casually adjusted his robe and then leaned in for a tight hug, and a light kissed the cheek.

"You're up and about I see –how are you holding up, dear? Would you like some nice hot tea?"

"That sounds lovely, actually. I'm still a little sore and that might just do the trick." He smiled, moseying his way into the living room and collapsing against the couch.

He snuggled against it and breathed in deeply when he felt a sudden, hot but yet, fiercely icy burn, scorching the entirety of his jaw; it left needles tingling on the surface of his skin.

_Obviously_, he thought stupidly, _my teeth haven't healed quite yet_. John looked then outside the nearby window, seeing a blue sky with hardly any clouds. The rays were almost too tempting. He had to escaped this prison. All it kept reminding him of the reason why he's been bed-ridden for weeks. _Spineless bastard!_

"Here, you are dear, carefully!" She handed him the porcelain teacup and he blew the curtains of steam until they faded, "its hot…John-_I-I've been meaning_ to ask you, but I'm afraid to"—

"It's a nice day out, isn't it?" John was lost in his daze, not even meaning to ignore sweet Miss Hudson's question, "Oh god, I'm so sorry. That was very rude, I was just admiring out the window, _uh-um what_, what was it you're asking?"

"You know…" She trailed off, waving her hand absently and smiling primly, "It's not really that important."

"I didn't mean to offend you,"—

"I promise, dear," She smiled, deeply and sincerely patting his shoulder and collecting his empty teacup, "It's nothing, really."

As she went into the kitchen, she turned every so often and caught John still staring out the window. He leaned so roughly against that cane now, it made Mrs. Hudson's heart bleed. She frowned, as she gently soaked the porcelain.

"I think I'm gunna go out for a tik." John smiled and collected some fresh laundry.

"John, are you sure you're ready to go out? This soon?" She asked quietly, meaning no harm.

"_Yes_…I wanted to get out of this flat, I've been cooped up here for nearly three weeks. I'm ready to go back outside. Whether or not Sherlock likes it or not, It's might be just what I need, you know? Anyway, I'll catch you later."

"Well, at the very least," Mrs. Hudson fetched his coat and fixing the lapel, "Be warm; winter's coming early this year."

* * *

John strolled through a nearby colorful park. The sidewalk was soft and white, like sand. Delicate leaves, dancing madly in shades of emeralds and greens, honey and ambers, smoldering browns and reds, collecting in a mad tousle and then bursting back into gravity.

Falling, one by one, the gems and fruits of the harvest trees are glowing gold and orange, like the sun, glinting through the trees. Curvy and straight trees curling their roots within the soil like carpet and the other larger trees, those thick and brown camphor trees, with such stature.

John walked slow and aloof, careless even. He tapped his cane every so often to try walking on his own but he had to admit, he wasn't getting a much better. John knew he possessed very little dignity left, especially with his recent ordeal with Moriarity but he still, he manages to believe in that in old saying, _"What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger,"—and that alone_, fuels John's ambitions to keep his head up high and to carry on. He knows he must let go of that disgusting mishap, no matter how much it haunts him and John can't crack. He still feels a little broken, worst of all, used and unworthy.

He finally came upon a bench that faced a beautiful garden maze, filled with all kinds of wild, fat and crazy ferns, zigzagging in the sunlight. Gold and white flowers littered the beds just his left and he began to pick the petals off one the flowers. Then there came a breeze and he shut his eyes really tightly and embraced the tranquility of that simple pleasure.

For an odd moment, Watson found himself wondering about Sherlock. He did just leave him there in bed _but for Christ-Sake_, he muttered to himself, _he hasn't slept since that encounter with Moriarty_…Sherlock _needed the rest_. _Indefinitely_.

But at the same time, John wouldn't be surprised if the bastard decided to follow him anyway, all the way across town or that perhaps Mycroft would somehow intercept him tonight, on his way home. _God_, John scoffed a chuckled beneath his breath as he tossed the broken steam of a lily into the fountain, _bloody_ _power complex!_

The water began to ripple erratically when the petals fell apart like white ribbons. John watched the ripples expand wider and wider until fading against the embankment. The water glowed a sea green, filled with bubbly blues and darker violets. It sort of reminded John of Sherlock's eyes; they were _always_ expressive, to say the least.

Although, it is something John has _always_ secretly admired about his flat mate. Sherlock's eyes are so intense that they look as if they're reflecting every color around him and they are _always wide_ and wet. When John first met Sherlock, his eyes captivated him most because they looked carved and polished out of marble, rolling in every color imaginable.

Watson had never met a man quite like Sherlock Holmes. Besides his unorthodox way of going about things, his constant, caddy and nonchalant behaviors are nearly insufferable, the way he goes about his thankless and shitty attitudes (and yes, he's capable of displaying multiple personalities at once), and yet, the man still precedes forward through life without fear or exploitations. _It makes me want to slap the curl out his hair! _

Sometimes, John wonders if Sherlock actually had any friends growing up. _I mean, I was shy lad and I managed fine _but Sherlock tends to let the technicalities overrule his judgement. It's always getting in the way of everyday life for him and people don't realized that he's genuinely naïve about his nature. Some may categorize him as condescending or even a bigot but he's a good man.

_All I know is that the Sherlock I've come to meet and love is a man with great ambition, wit and intellect to carry him to the places he wants to go. Deep down I know he's an adventurer and desires to explore new things and do something no one else has ever experienced. He may be rude and callous and pretentious. Yes, a bit blunt and an incredible dickhead at times but he does cares. He's always cared, I just know._

* * *

John began to make his way into the door and headed towards the upstairs apartments and could hear Sherlock playing the violin softly above. As he climbed the stairs, he heard the violin quiet down. Just as soon as John opened the front door, he saw Sherlock, lounging casually on the sofa and then got up, stalking towards him quickly.

"Are _you okay, John_?" Sherlock trembled slightly, "I was worried."

"I was just out walking about. Why? I told Mrs. Hudson to tell you"—

"_Iknow,Iknow,Iknow!_ I'm not talking about _that_, dammit!"

For a moment, there was nothing but silence that passed between them. Neither of them moved from their post. John still stood eerily, with his back facing the flat door and Sherlock directly in front of him, less than a foot away. That's when saw it, John finally saw a shred of light fade and steam away in his eye; the fear of losing someone you love. It was as if he finally understood what that meant and it enflamed every nerve within him. Sherlock seethed in anger but showed no trace of his wrath. John stood appalled and yet, moved….

"I'm gunna settle this score. I swear"-

"_No!_" John argued, "_We're not_…Okay? You've both had you're fun for now, can _we_ just go back to being normal? Besides, I'm over with kidnapping bullshit." John sighed exhaustedly, emphasizing a point.

That's when suddenly, Sherlock pushed John gently up against the door and while well aware of John's oral injuries, managed to melt his lips upon his. John found this move most unexpected but somehow, it felt right. It was brief, but so wonderful, nonetheless.

For only a second, they awkwardly looked at one another and turned away. Then they both began to giggle against each other and then they cackled hysterically for a good few minutes. They leaned up against each other to catch their breath.

"_I'm sorry_. I just wanted to know, as least once, what it would feel like to kiss you and _that_ was entirely inappropriate, forgive me, I shouldn't have"—Sherlock nervously searched for the right words as well as his violin.

"No! _NonoNono_. It was fine, actually." John poured himself a small bit of brandy, "It was good. _Really nice._" John found himself blushing. He took a big gulp of his drink.

"But we should probably keep _that_ between us." Sherlock smirked as he brought up his violin and bow.

"Agreed." John laughing softly with him.

* * *

_"_YOU REPEL ME_"_

_~I sincerely hope you've enjoyed my **twisted little story**!~_

_( rtargyle/ Jessica)_


End file.
